


Obedience

by draculard



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Bondage and Discipline, Corporal Punishment, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gags, Leather Bondage, M/M, No Lube, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Orgasm Denial, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Sawhorse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Sometimes, Thrawn can push even Ba'kif's patience to its limits.
Relationships: Ba'kif/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	Obedience

“The Syndics will not tolerate another attack,” said Ba’kif, his voice calm but cool, his eyes flashing. If Thrawn had any sense left in him, Ar’alani knew he would back down now. “If you move now, you risk bringing the full weight of the Nine Ruling Families’ power down on not just your head, but mine as well. You don’t understand the situation on Csilla, Senior Captain. You don’t have the—”

“You don’t understand the situation we’re in,” Thrawn snapped, whirling on Ba’kif. His posture was like a coiled spring or an animal about to pounce; he was so worked up he didn’t notice the whole bridge had gone silent, or what sort of danger he’d just stepped into. Outside the viewport, the battle between pirates and a local trading company waged on without Chiss interference; inside, Ar’alani saw her subordinates glancing up covertly from their stations to stare at Thrawn and Ba’kif, who had gone preternaturally still.

In the past, Ar’alani had sometimes marveled at the way Thrawn spoke to Ba’kif — at the level of disrespect Ba’kif let him get away with. Now, Ba’kif’s face was like a stone mask, and Thrawn seemed utterly unaware; he was so focused on the upcoming battle, Ar’alani realized, that he didn’t even really see the people around him — so caught up in his desperate attempts at convincing Ba’kif that he failed to realize he’d lost him entirely. 

“If we move our First Clawcraft Squadron around the back of the hangar bay—” Thrawn said, halfway muttering to himself as he turned to the viewport. Ba’kif turned and made eye contact with the pilot, saying nothing; his darkened face was all the pilot needed. With a gulp, he spoke with the sky-walker at his side and together they input the coordinates for hyperspace.

“—with a salvo of laser fire first to discern their defense pattern—”

Thrawn’s voice cut off at once, caused by two things. First, by the starlines that descended over the viewport, erasing the battle scene before them as the _Whirlwind_ jumped to hyperspace. Second, by the sudden, close presence of General Ba’kif, his hand on Thrawn’s arm, wrenching him closer with an iron grip. Thrawn stumbled against him, eyes widening at the rough gesture, as if he didn’t understand exactly what he’d done or how egregiously he’d misbehaved.

Ar’alani’s mouth grew dry. Quietly, she signaled the sky-walker and her caregiver to leave the room. After bringing the ship out of hyperspace again, leaving it to drift in an uninhabited section of Chiss space, they did.

There was a seldom-used punishment in the Fleet — a traditional punishment dating back to the early years of expansion, when warriors had been less disciplined and more mouthy (though sometimes Ar’alani wagered they still weren’t as mouthy as Thrawn). For a society so rigidly based on dignity and social standing, there was no way to bring a wayward soldier back in line more efficiently than the _tsuzepi_.

Ba’kif’s fingers were still tight on Thrawn’s upper arm, holding him still as Thrawn, willfully oblivious to his own sins, stared out the viewport and kept up a steady stream of protests and withering insults; Ar'alani had seen him in the same state a dozen times when he got truly worked up. His mouth just wouldn’t stop moving no matter how much danger he was in; he questioned Ba’kif’s integrity, his sense of honor, his competence as a commander, and the whole time he pulled uselessly at his own arm, trying to break Ba’kif’s grip.

He was still talking when Ba’kif, five inches taller than Thrawn and bound in at least thirty more pounds of muscle, twisted his arm and slammed him to the floor.

Across from Ar’alani, she saw Samakro wince and turn his face away. Thrawn’s breath escaped him in a wounded gasp on impact and he lay still on his stomach, speechless and winded, with his cheek pressed against the bridge floor and arms pinned behind his back. Ar’alani could just make out his eyes, wide and stunned as his brain caught up with his mouth and he finally realized what he’d done — what he’d said — who he said it to.

Slowly, Ba’kif knelt down next to Thrawn, his knee coming down in the small of Thrawn’s back. His fingers twisted in Thrawn’s hair, pulling his head up sharply so the other soldiers on the bridge could see his face, flushed with anger and shame. Thrawn's eyes slid closed; his heart must have been sinking, because Ar'alani could tell from the look on his face that he realized how far over the line he'd gone and knew that this time, there would be no one to talk him out of a punishment.

“Senior Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” said Ba’kif, his voice even and firm. “You have violated Section 46—” Thrawn’s body tensed, recognizing the section before Ba’kif even finished. “—of the Expansionary Defense Fleet Code of Conduct. You have disrespected a senior officer.”

Ar’alani watched, her face grim, as Thrawn went still again. He had to know what was coming next; it was a punishment he’d never been subjected to, possibly never even seen, but it was one every cadet quickly learned to fear. There was a reason every Chiss soldier, no matter how dull, could recite Section 46 by heart.

“Stand and take your punishment,” Ba’kif said.

He took his knee off Thrawn’s back, and just as Thrawn had gotten his hands beneath him and started to slowly push himself up, Ba’kif grabbed a fistful of his tunic, right between his shoulders, and yanked him unceremoniously to his feet. Thrawn stumbled, his facial heat flaring again at the rough treatment, his eyes shifting incessantly to avoid looking any of his colleagues in the face.

“Ready the _tsuzepi,_ ” Ba’kif said, raising his voice. The officers at the weapons and sensor stations scrambled to their feet at once and turned to a compartment in the deck plating beneath them, one of them bending to pry it open with his fingers, the other swiveling to face a seldom-used set of controls. He pressed the right button just as his comrade got the compartment open.

Ba’kif had just marched Thrawn to the edge of the compartment when a contraption rose from beneath it, the lines stark and harsh and savage. It was a simple structure, unchanged since ancient times, except now it was made of cold, unforgiving steel instead of splintering wood. It was much like a sawhorse built of three parts: two square posts and one low bench a little higher up between them, set at waist height. Thrawn eyed it, his jaw tight, refusing to move when Ba’kif prodded him forward.

“Bridge crew, at your stations,” said Ba’kif loudly, his voice clipped. There was a flurry of movement; when the _tsuzepi_ was out, their ‘stations’ changed, and the officers formed a tight circle around Thrawn and Ba’kif instead, close enough to watch their every move. Ba’kif gave Thrawn another rough shove. “Senior Captain, you will strip yourself of all clothing and assume the position.”

From her stance on the far side of the circle, next to Samakro, Ar’alani could see the rigid line of Thrawn’s shoulders and the hesitation on his face. She’d seen other officers look beseechingly at their commanders during punishments like this, or even break their military bearing and beg, but Thrawn did neither of these things. He forced an unconvincing look of disinterest on his face — fooling no one — and undid the collar of his uniform with trembling hands.

He handed the silver-tooled bars that adorned his collar to Ba’kif, as was custom, and Ba’kif pocketed them at once, temporarily stripping Thrawn of his rank. He watched with hard eyes as Thrawn stripped, slowly at first, then forcing himself into brisk, economic movements — reminding himself of the Academy, Ar’alani suspected; of the fact that he’d undressed in front of his fellow soldiers before. Perhaps trying to convince himself that this was no different, that he could leave with his dignity intact.

If that was his state of mind right now, then Ar’alani suspected this was going to be a very long punishment indeed. It wouldn’t end until Ba’kif believed Thrawn had truly learned something, and she could tell by the defiant gleam in Thrawn’s eyes that that would take a while.

He let his tunic fall to the floor without ceremony; he kicked his boots off without bending down except to untie them, then stepped out of his trousers with his head held high. His cock was already half-hard, more from adrenaline than arousal, Ar’alani suspected, and he met Ba’kif’s eyes with a dangerous look on his face, showing no remorse.

“Can you hold your tongue,” said Ba’kif evenly, “or do you need to be gagged?”

 _Gag him,_ Ar’alani pleaded mentally. She avoided the urge to cross her fingers behind her back. If Thrawn wasn’t gagged, then he might run his mouth until Ba’kif gave up and decided to let him hang in the _tsuzepi_ all week.

“Answer me, Thrawn,” said Ba’kif, eschewing Thrawn’s rank. Ar’alani could see Thrawn suppress a flinch at that, as though it physically stung him. His defiant expression wavered; he looked down at Ba’kif’s long, broad hands, currently twining a piece of coarse cloth into a gag.

“Gag me,” Thrawn murmured, his lips scarcely moving, his voice barely audible. He held still, his eyes closed and his head bowed, as Ba’kif put his hands on his shoulders and turned him around. Thrawn’s lips parted for the gag, letting the cloth rest between his teeth while Ba’kif pulled it tight. A subtle tremor, barely noticeable from where Ar’alani stood, started at Thrawn’s shoulders and traveled down to his thighs, making his knees knock together just once before he got himself under control.

She could read the faces of the men and women around her all too easily — while a few looked at Thrawn with sympathy, most watched the display before them with thinly-disguised satisfaction, happy to see the Springhawk’s odd captain put in his place. She watched as Ba’kif led Thrawn to the three structures of the _tsuzepi_ and guided his feet to the straps on the first post.

The straps were made of leather and places close to the floor but widely apart from one another; Thrawn stepped into the cuffs gingerly, his legs spreading wide to accommodate them as Ba’kif bent and fastened each one. He trailed his hands over Thrawn’s thighs and ass as he stood, then stopped with one hand flat in the center of his back.

“Bend over,” he ordered.

The muscles on Thrawn’s abdomen tightened, but he obeyed, bending over until his lower stomach rested on the low metal bench before him. Ba’kif leaned close, pressing himself against Thrawn’s bare ass and reaching between them to adjust Thrawn’s cock so that it was pinned between his hips and the bench. His every move was clinical and detached; he seemed not to notice or not to care when Thrawn’s breath hitched and he went still at Ba’kif’s touch, the heat in his face increasing — not because Ba’kif was touching him in such an intimate area, Ar’alani thought, but because Ba’kif was touching him without any personal interest, as though Thrawn’s body mattered to him no more than a machine. Like Thrawn, who'd grown accustomed to people seeing him as both attractive and intimidating, was nothing more than an object to be used and thrown away. 

Slowly, Ba’kif walked around to the other side of the stocks, leaving Thrawn bent over and exposed. He took Thrawn’s hands in his own and stretched them out to reach the other post, where he cinched the leather cuffs there tight around his wrists. There was only one item left — a leather strip of fabric longer and wider than the rest, which was attached to the cushioned platform at the top of the post.

With his fingers tangled in Thrawn’s hair again, Ba’kif pulled Thrawn’s head down onto the platform, resting his cheek against the cushion. The move straightened Thrawn’s back and stretched his spine, leaving him with no way to defend himself against what was coming next, no way to curl up or hide from the onslaught. Ba’kif fastened the leather straps around Thrawn’s neck, buckling them just tight enough to make his breath come short, and then stepped away. 

From the compartment below, he retrieved one last item before the ceremony could begin — a long, smooth board, as barbaric-looking as the rest of the _tsuzepi._ The only sign of modernity on it was the leather grip on the handle and the words inscribed on the flat end of the paddle, reciting the first word of the CEDF Warrior’s Creed and nothing else. Just that one word: _obedience_.

Ba’kif offered Thrawn no final chance to repent or plead for mercy; the gag prevented him from speaking, anyway. He walked around to the back of the _tsuzepi_ and surveyed the room, landing a hard gaze on each and every one of the gathered warriors, as if daring them to speak up. He was warning the wrong people, Ar’alani thought. The only people here who might even think of stepping in on Thrawn’s behalf were her and Ba’kif himself.

After a moment, Ba’kif turned back to Thrawn with a slight nod. He put one broad, warm hand on Thrawn’s ass, just touching him, squeezing firmly enough to make Thrawn close his eyes and choke out a gasp.

And then, pulling back, Ba’kif lifted the paddle and struck without warning, slamming it into Thrawn’s backside with a sound of impact loud enough to set Ar’alani’s ears burning. Thrawn’s hips bucked, flinching forward as much as he physically could and driving his half-erect cock into the cold steel of the _tsuzepi._ When Ba’kif pulled away, Ar’alani could see a dark stripe of color across Thrawn’s cheeks — Ba’kif hadn’t pulled any punches, hadn’t started easy and worked himself up, she realized with a sinking heart. He’d hit Thrawn hard enough to leave a welt — that much was clear just from the fact that Thrawn had flinched — and he wasn’t going to get any gentler.

Ba’kif touched Thrawn’s ass again, digging his fingers into the sting of color across his skin. Ar’alani saw Thrawn try to turn his head, to bury his face against the padded platform, but the leather cuff around his throat wouldn’t let him. Breath rasped out of him in strangled gasps, muffled both by his position and by the gag between his teeth.

When Ba’kif hit him again, everyone on the bridge heard the quiet groan Thrawn couldn’t seem to hold in. He bit it off halfway through, turning it more into a growl; Ar’alani saw his abs tense and tremble in anticipation of the next blow.

And the next, which wrenched a hiss from his lips.

And the next, which brought a choked-off whimper.

And the next, which elicited a muffled cry.

When Ba’kif pulled back to hit him again, Thrawn squirmed against the post, his cock fully erect. He moved his hips in a mindless attempt to escape the blow — then arched his back as much as he could as if to lean into it — then rutted shamelessly against the post, unable to stop himself, seeking friction even as he tried to get away.

Each blow hit hard enough to drive Thrawn’s body forward against the posts; his hands worked ceaselessly, unconsciously, straining against the leather cuffs in a desperate attempt to break free. Ar’alani could see the stinging burn of heat spreading across Thrawn’s ass every time Ba’kif landed a blow; in the infrared, every surge of pain and pleasure was plain to see. 

Thrawn tipped his forehead against the padded platform and let out a soft, ragged gasp that was muffled by the gag. The sheer vulnerability of the situation was rushing to his head — Ar’alani could tell, even from a distance. His hips tilted to put his backside at an angle, his thighs spread, the soft furl of his entrance exposed every time Ba’kif put rough hands on Thrawn’s stinging cheeks and kneaded them, prying them apart for everyone — his comrades, his rivals, his friends — to see. 

Thrawn let out a shuddering breath, his hips undulating wantonly against the post — and when Ba’kif struck him again, harder than ever before, he let out a sharp, pained cry, unable to hold it back any longer. Ar’alani winced, averting her eyes, but the cries didn’t stop; now that he’d let slip once, Thrawn couldn’t seem to help himself, and the gag did little to muffle his pain. 

She could hear him gasping, half-sobbing into the gag; she could hear him moaning something that sounded almost like ‘stop,’ something almost like ‘please.’ The gag had been a kindness on Ba’kif’s part, she realized now — not a punishment at all. When this was all over, maybe Thrawn would be able to convince himself that his crewmates hadn’t heard him pleading, hadn’t heard him whine.

Just a few meters away from her, she saw Thrawn squeeze his eyes closed, tears of pain or humiliation gathering on his lashes. At the next blow from Ba’kif, the tears fell, streaking down Thrawn’s cheeks and dampening the cushion propped beneath his head. He tore uselessly at the leather cuffs around his wrists, pulling so hard that she was sure it must be abrading his skin.

And then, as quickly as he’d started, Ba’kif stopped. His chest heaved with deep, exerted breaths, but his lips were closed in a thin line and his face was still hard. He dropped the paddle on the deck; with one hand, he brushed loose strands of hair away from his forehead and with the other, casual as can be, he reached down and unfastened his trousers.

Ba’kif held himself in one hand as he stepped forward, kneading Thrawn’s bruised and reddened ass. With Thrawn’s thighs spread and shaking visibly, Ba’kif didn’t need to do a thing other than line himself up. His fingers dipped into Thrawn’s entrance first, testing him but not stretching him — offering him no relief. Thrawn moaned at the touch and buried his face in the cushion, using it to scrub the tears from his face.

Ba’kif’s cock was average length but almost viciously thick; the head of his cock pressed up against Thrawn’s entrance, unlubricated and already too wide to enter comfortably. But Ba’kif’s face gave nothing away; he braced himself against Thrawn’s hips with a bruising grip and thrift forward, pushing himself unrepentantly inside.

A pained groan shuddered out of Thrawn’s throat, sounding like it had been ripped right out of his chest. He held still, gasping for air, unable to adjust to the feeling of Ba’kif inside him. There was no change in expression on Ba’kif’s face; he shoved himself deep inside Thrawn and then paused, buried to the shaft; Ar’alani saw him tilt Thrawn’s hips up a little, making himself more comfortable.

His hand lay flat between Thrawn’s shoulder blades, his fingers spread and he pushed him down hard against the stocks. Ba’kif didn’t stop to check if Thrawn was alright; of course he didn’t. He simply pulled out — all the way out — and slammed back in again.

The sound of skin-on-skin filled the bridge, joined only by Ba’kif’s short, controlled breaths and Thrawn’s rapid ones. He jerked forward against the posts, strangled sounds of pain making their way through the gag; Ar’alani could see drool pooling on the cushion beneath his head, soaking through the cloth between his teeth as his eyes rolled. His hips rocked, pushed forward by Ba’kif and pushed backward again by Thrawn, who couldn’t seem to decide whether to lean into each thrust or scramble away.

Each thrust rubbed Thrawn’s erect cock against the posts; pre-cum dripped from his slit, making his thighs glisten anytime they brushed against his cockhead. Ba’kif pulled out and pushed back in again with a speed and intensity that made Ar’alani grit her teeth; she could see Thrawn’s entrance stretching to take Ba’kif deeper — farther — harder—

And then, just as Thrawn started to shake and moan underneath Ba’kif with total abandon, no longer fighting his bonds but actively leaning into his superior officer — just when his body shuddered and he seemed ready to come — Ba’kif stopped, holding Thrawn’s hips still. His expression didn’t change; his eyes were hard, his mouth a thin line.

Ar’alani only realized he’d come when he pulled out slowly and she saw his seed trickling out of Thrawn’s entrance and down the back of his thighs. She watched Thrawn tremble, still keening helplessly against his gag, as Ba’kif tucked his softening penis back into his trousers and stepped away.

He undid the leather cuffs. Thrawn’s cock was still painfully hard and leaking pre-cum; his hands grasped desperately at Ba’kif’s as he was freed, but Ba’kif only gave him a brief squeeze of acknowledgement and then stepped away. Ar’alani watched as Thrawn, still gasping for air, tried to lift himself away from the post on trembling arms; his legs gave out beneath him and he sank to the floor in a slow, half-controlled fall.

He sat in Ba’kif’s cum for a long moment, the gag between his lips soaked with saliva, his face wet with his tears, his hair tangled and his eyes dazed. Ba’kif circled him, eyeing Thrawn with a critical eye — the bruises striping his backside and dotting his hips, the flush clinging to his cheeks and collar bone, his erect cock still bobbing against his stomach.

With a nod of satisfaction, Ba’kif reached down and untied the knot on the gag.

“Clean yourself up,” he said.


End file.
